“Mighty!” exclaimed the young ruffler; “bain’t the road free to none but yourself, Jarge? Here be a yoong gen’lman waiting to pass, now.” They took it as aimed at me, and hedged in again. He clawed two by the napes of their necks, and cracking their heads comfortably together, flung both aside. His intentions were quite unmistakable, and his strength a thing to regard. I was painfully conscious of it as I went through the sullen lane the others, discomfited, made for me; but I plucked up courage, as I passed, to express my gratitude. “Thank you, Harry!” I said. He was after me in a moment. “It’s not a’going to make no differ’,” he whispered fiercely. “You onderstand that?” “It shan’t, anyhow, till after the fight,” I answered back in his ear, and nodded and ran on. At last the great day came. Mr. Sant, in order that my uncle might be saved anxiety, and me the necessity of deception, had given me no warning until the very moment was on me. He had manœuvred to hold me a little longer than usual over my lessons; and suddenly returned to me after a short absence from the room. “Dick,” he said, “Harrier’s waiting for you in the garden.” My heart gave a twist, and for a moment pulled the blood out of my cheeks. Then I saw Mr. Sant looking at me, and was suddenly glowing all over, as if after a cold douche. “For the right, Dicky!” he said. “To win your spurs in Christendom! Remember what I’ve taught you, and keep your head.” It was all very well to say so, with that part of me like a bladder full of hot air. But I followed him stoutly, trusting to the occasion to inspire me with all the science which, for the moment, had clean deserted me. There was a little plat of lawn at the back, very snug and private behind some trees; and here we found my adversary waiting, in charge of Jacob, the gardener, a grizzled, comfortable old fellow in complete Christian subjection to his master. Jacob was to second Harry, and Mr. Sant me. The old fellow grinned and ducked as we appeared. There were no other witnesses. “Now,” said Mr. Sant, “when I say ‘Go!’ go; when I call ‘Time!’ stop.” He fell back with the words, and we stood facing one another. I was utterly bemused, at that instant, as to the processes by which I had reached this situation. I could only grasp the one fact that I was put up to batter, if I could (which seemed ridiculous), this confident, taut little figure in the shirt and corduroy smalls and gaiters, who held out, as if for my inspection, two bare brown arms, made all of bone and whipcord; and that I must proceed to _try_ to do this, without any present quarrel--but rather the reverse--to stimulate me. It was so different to the circumstances of that other mad contest. I could have laughed; I---- “Go!” said Mr. Sant. Something cracked on my forehead, and I fell. “Time!” cried Mr. Sant. He pulled me to my feet. “Get your wits, Dicky,” he said.